


never worse but never better

by sky_reid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The X Factor Era, bc i can't seem to find it, someone let me know if there's a comm/collection, txf tour more precisely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis knows all the tricks to make harry squirm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never worse but never better

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](http://1dkink2015.livejournal.com/1450.html?thread=19626#t19626) on the (new) kink meme; i read the prompt like a few weeks ago and wasn't originally gonna write it but then this got stuck in my head and just would not leave until it was written
> 
> set in a hotel during txf tour (because of reasons), so technically harry is _underage_ (though not under the age of consent); since this is not an au, i’ve tried to keep it as non-american as i could, but it’s very possible i’ve failed, sorry
> 
> also consider this your warning for _unnegotiated bdsm and d/s_ ; although there’s no full-on bdsm scene, this fic is kinda of the accidentally-stumbled-on-bdsm variety
> 
> on an unrelated note, this is my 50th fic here _and_ the fic that's gonna ensure 1d is on my fandoms list without it being expanded, let's all take a moment to celebrate

 

_never worse but never better_

 

The come is still warm on Harry’s stomach when Louis drags a tight fist up his cock again. Harry watches, mesmerised. Louis’ hand pushes his foreskin up to cover most of the head again and just a single drop of come beads out of his slit. He throws his head back so it rests on Louis’ shoulder. Louis’ skin is a little tacky with sweat and his hard cock presses against the small of Harry’s back but his breathing is still mostly steady and he’s not making any attempts to push Harry off to touch himself so Harry sags back against him. Louis’ hand slides down his cock slowly and stays loosely wrapped around the base.

 

It’s nice to just lie back and relax, close his eyes and feel Louis all around him, smell the clean sweat and a hint of his own green apple body wash, hear Louis breathe. Louis’ legs bracket his, strong thighs tense against Harry’s spread legs, and Louis’ arms wrap around his chest, hugging him from behind and holding him close. Harry feels safe and relaxed and sleepy; he just wants to lie like this and sleep for a few hours. Or days. He hasn’t decided yet.

 

That is, until Louis starts pumping his cock again. Harry hisses, still hard but oversensitive, tries to get away from Louis’ hand by squirming backwards and only succeeds in getting Louis to grip him tighter. It doesn’t feel good, can’t possibly feel good so soon, and he whines against Louis’ neck. There’s pleasure there, like there always is when Louis touches him, but it’s too sharp, too intense, too soon, just _too much_. “Lou, too much,” he sobs into Louis’ skin. He doesn’t know if Louis doesn’t hear him or just doesn’t react to it, but Louis’ hand doesn’t stop moving over his cock. It makes an obscene sound, the lube Louis used before mixing with Harry’s come to make a wet mess of his crotch. Louis’ other hand runs down his chest and stomach lightly making Harry’s muscles jump and his nipples perk up, still a little sore from Louis biting them earlier; Louis’ fingers trail through every drop of come on Harry’s skin, spread it out and rub it in and get him even dirtier and messier and God, Harry’s getting turned on again. He pushes into Louis’ fist mindlessly before pulling back again because it’s still _too much_. He feels like Louis’ hands are setting him on fire wherever they touch.

 

“Always look so inviting after you come,” Louis says absently, almost like the words are slipping out of him without conscious thought. “Always look like you want _more_.” Harry wants to say that he _doesn’t_ , that he _can’t_ , but that’s such a lie and he knows it; when it comes to Louis, he always wants more. He doesn’t know if it’s the words or something else but on the next upstroke the pleasure outweighs the pain and he moans (or maybe it’s the pain that makes it good, but Harry doesn’t want to think too much about _that_ ). “There you go,” Louis whispers. He pets Harry’s stomach once then uses that hand, covered in come, to cup Harry’s balls. He tugs on them a little just like Harry likes; Harry arches his back away from Louis. His arse pushes against Louis’ crotch and Louis’ cock slips between his arsecheeks. It’s like his every move makes it even easier for Louis to drive him mad.

 

Louis’ fingers squeeze once more around his balls before they drift lower, the tips of them pressing just behind and Harry imagines he can _see_ the jolt of arousal that spreads from there up to the tip of his cock making it even harder; it twitches in Louis’ hand.

 

Harry makes the mistake of looking down and then can’t look away. Louis’ hand, small to begin with, is completely dwarfed by his thick cock flushed such a deep red it makes even Louis’ skin look pale in comparison. Louis’ other hand disappears between Harry’s legs, only the heel of his palm visible where it’s pressing on Harry’s balls, but Harry doesn’t need to see the rest of it, he can _feel_ Louis’ fingers prodding and pushing and making him moan and squirm. “Louis,” he murmurs, not sure how he wants to finish that sentence. He rolls his hips once, pushes into Louis’ fist and back against his cock to see how it feels. It’s still intense, the friction of Louis’ hand on his cock, even with how slowly he’s fucking into Louis’ fist. It’s good though, so good that once he starts, he can’t stop; he rocks back and forth, into Louis and away from him, still unsure if he’s trying to get closer or to escape. His breathing is getting shallow again and he can feel a fresh sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin. Louis’ hand tightens around him and he starts fucking into it faster.

 

“That’s it, baby,” Louis praises, lips ghosting over Harry’s temple. Harry can feel the plastic rim of Louis’ glasses digging into his scalp. It makes it better somehow to know that Louis is watching too, that he’s left his glasses on so he could see better, that maybe he did that because he was _planning_ on watching Harry squirm like this all along. He opens his mouth to ask, has the words on the tip of his tongue, but Louis twists his wrist as he strokes up his cock, runs the flat of his palm over the head and Harry suddenly can’t get enough air into his lungs. Louis moans instead of him, whispers “Yeah, just like that,” right into Harry’s ear. It’s _unfair_ is what it is, that Louis’s seen him wanking so many times he knows every trick in the book, every single thing that makes Harry tick, that he knows _exactly_ how sensitive Harry is there.

 

He hides his face in the crook of Louis’ neck and all but sobs as Louis circles the head of his cock with a thumb once, then presses the flat of it against the slit. Harry jerks in Louis’ arms. “Please,” he mouths against the damp skin under his lips.

 

Louis rubs his slightly stubbly cheek over Harry’s. “Look,” he says and Harry _does_ before he’s truly decided to, like his body is wired to obey Louis even if it takes bypassing his brain to do so. He watches as Louis wraps his hand around the head of his cock and gives it a squeeze before dragging his tight fist down to pull the foreskin back. Louis’ other hand tugs on Harry’s balls on its way back up Harry’s body; Louis’ fingers ghost over the exposed head of Harry’s cock, over his stomach and chest. Louis pinches each of his nipples in turn, pulls on them and plays with them while Harry’s eyes stay glued to where Louis is now practically just holding his cock. A drop of precome beads at the slit and Louis swipes it away with a thumb. The touch sends shocks through Harry’s entire body. “I know you like that,” Louis says. His voice is a little deeper than usual, a little breathier but he still sounds mostly unaffected; if it weren’t for his cock hard against Harry’s arse, Harry would question whether Louis was getting off on this at all.

 

“Lou,” Harry gasps as Louis’ thumb circles his slit again and again. It feels like Louis’ name is the only word he knows, like his entire world has narrowed down to Louis. He tries to rock into Louis’ hand, but Louis doesn’t let him; he keeps his hand wrapped around the top of Harry’s cock and continues to circle the head with his thumb until Harry falls back on the bed and melts into him, a shaking, shivering mess. He can’t stop the overwhelmed sounds falling out of his mouth just as much as he can’t stop watching Louis play with him. He’s breathing so hard now that he’s getting a little dizzy; his lungs fill with air that smells of Louis and sex. Louis’ fingers are sticky-messy-dirty with lube and come and they play Harry like an instrument and Harry watches until the image before him gets blurry.

 

When he comes, he almost misses it but for the fresh load of come that coats Louis’ hand. It’s not the usual peak he gradually climbs towards, more like just another intense moment in the middle of an already intense experience. He doesn’t come as much as the first time, only a couple of weak pulses that don’t make it past sliding down his shaft and over Louis’ fingers. He feels it in his gut though and it’s almost like it doesn’t end, instead sort of tapers off because Louis _doesn’t stop_. He just drizzles more lube directly on Harry’s cock and starts pulling him off again. The initial shock of cold lube dripping on the swollen head of his cock and sliding over his overheated skin is soothing in a way, like a reassurance that he’s not actually going to burst into flames. Then Louis pumps his cock a few times and Harry feels like he’s on fire again.

 

His nails dig into Louis’ skin where he’s gripping Louis’ thighs. He latches his mouth onto Louis’ neck to stop himself from whining too loudly, but the sounds still escape him. He tries to close his legs but Louis still has one hand rubbing over his nipples and he pinches one harshly in warning. Harry whines a little but lets his legs fall open as far as they’ll go. He thinks he’s drooling over Louis’ skin. Louis is either too focused on Harry’s dick to notice or he doesn’t care.

 

“Come on, love,” he says, working Harry’s cock with a tight fist and slow pumps. Harry doesn’t get what he means until he adds, “Know you can give me more.”

 

“Oh God,” Harry sobs, torn between being terrified at the idea of Louis getting him off again and never wanting this to end. The touch of Louis’ hands is overwhelming but there’s no pain this time, no real discomfort; maybe it’s because Louis doesn’t take a break or maybe it’s because he starts out slow or maybe it’s because Harry’s forgotten how to feel anything but pleasure. He feels like his whole body is one exposed nerve and Louis is a never-ending stimulus. He writhes in Louis’ arms, near delirious with everything he’s feeling and far too out of it to be embarrassed about what he must look and sound like as he paws desperately at any part of Louis he can reach and begs without words.

 

Louis runs his hand soothingly over Harry’s inner thigh and shushes him with gentle words and gentler kisses until Harry feels a little more like he can breathe. He doesn’t stop pumping Harry’s cock though, keeping him hard and just the right amount of desperate; Harry’s cheeks burn when he realises his eyes are prickling with tears, not from the physical sensations overwhelming him so much as from too many emotions warring inside him.

 

Louis’ lips find his in a light kiss that’s a perfect counterpoint to the intensity and urgency of what Harry is feeling everywhere else. “Do you wanna stop?” Louis asks, dead serious, and Harry loves him so much in that moment.

 

And the thing is, Harry doesn’t _know_ , he has no idea if he wants to stop or keep going like this until he passes out, he has no clue what Louis has planned for him or how much of it he can take, all he knows is that _Louis_ doesn’t want to stop and suddenly that’s all that matters so Harry shakes his head. It’s oddly liberating to let Louis take control over him, to let Louis think and make decisions for him and _trust_ Louis to know him well enough to do the _right_ thing. And Harry _does_. So he curls impossibly closer and says, “No, don’t stop.”

 

Harry’s had Louis _inside_ him, but he’s never felt closer to him than when Louis calls him _good boy_. He shivers all over and makes this sound he doesn’t even recognise as his own. Louis, of course, notices. “Like that, don’t you?” he asks, a teasing note clear in his voice; Harry nods anyway. “Like that you’re being good for me?” Harry has no idea where all this is coming from, where Louis learned to talk like that or why he’s getting off on being at Louis’ mercy, but he doesn’t ever want to go back to a time when sex didn’t involve him staying hard for so long he thinks he might just go numb from too much sensation or Louis whispering _my good, sweet, lovely boy_ in his ear like it’s a secret. “Want you to come again, darling,” Louis says, his hand already speeding up on Harry’s cock, focused on the top part of it again. “Think you can do that for me?” Harry doesn’t think he can, but by now he’s got into this mindset where he will do anything Louis asks of him; he hums a vaguely affirmative sound before Louis’s even finished the question.

 

Louis holds the base of his cock steady and uses his other hand to play with the foreskin, tugging it up and down over the head. Harry’s never seen his dick look like that before, the deep red of it turning near purple at the head, a stark contrast to his pale skin; the tacky mix of lube and come leaves white traces all over him, most of it pooling around the base of his cock and catching in his pubic hair. Louis gives his cock a few quick pumps that have him gasping and arching his back before forming tight ring of his thumb and middle finger just under the exposed head of Harry’s cock; the tips of his fingers are not quite touching.

 

“Look at that,” he murmurs, sounding about as captivated by the image as Harry feels, “beautiful.” Harry swears he feels the words like a physical touch, watches as his cock drools over Louis’ fingers, precome dribbling out of his slit which feels and looks raw, too big, too open. Louis touches it with the fingers of his free hand and just doesn’t stop, keeps poking and prodding and pushing and Harry thinks he’s going mad. It burns when Louis manages to press his pinky just a little bit inside but it also makes Harry’s cock twitch and his eyes slip shut and Harry is not going to analyse that too closely. “God, that’s amazing,” Louis says, pulling his finger out and just running it around Harry’s slit almost like he’s trying to get it to open _more_. He’s started rutting against Harry’s arse and his breath hitches in Harry’s ear. Harry imagines Louis fucking him like this, fucking instead of pulling three orgasms out of him; he wonders if it would feel the same, look the same, sound the same. Louis runs his thumb over the head of his cock roughly again and again. He nips at the lobe of Harry’s ear, says, “One day I want to get something _inside_ there, can you imagine—“

 

Harry chokes on a scream as he comes. It’s sudden and almost violent, the exact opposite of his last orgasm. He jerks so hard Louis has to hold him down. The single spurt of come that comes out is weak and burns, but the pleasure is intense; it spreads through his entire body, making his fingers and toes curl and tingle, and it seems to go on forever, leaving him shaking and twitching and moaning for a long time. Even when it’s over Harry feels like his brain’s shorted out and his thoughts are static. He’s only vaguely aware of Louis’ hand wanking him through the aftershocks, Louis’ soft voice in his ear, Louis’ lips gentle on his forehead. He sags back into Louis feeling pleasantly warm and sleepy and even cuddlier than usual.

 

Louis is telling him how well he did, calling him _baby_ and _darling_ and _love_ and _good boy_ ; one of Louis’ hands rubs slow circles over Harry’s chest leaving sticky traces of come behind. It would be soothing if it weren’t for the way Louis’ fingers catch on his nipples, still sensitive, puffy and sore from Louis playing with them earlier or Louis’ cock pushing between his arsecheeks and rubbing over his crack. Every time Louis scrapes a nail over one of his nipples or pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, Harry gasps softly. Louis’ other hand is still loosely wrapped around his cock so Harry starts to fuck into it, only rocking forward a bit every once in a while at first, but then Louis notices. He sucks in a breath like he’s surprised, then tightens his grip. He seems perfectly content with letting Harry set the pace; he keeps his fist tight and steady and lets Harry fuck into it.

 

“You’re amazing, bloody hell,” he says, sounding awed and surprised and amused all at once. “Insatiable, aren’t you?” he teases as he pinches one of Harry’s nipples hard and rolls it between his fingers. “My insatiable boy.” He tugs harshly on each of Harry’s nipples, then focuses back on just one, twisting it this way and that until it’s so sensitive Harry knows his clothes will irritate it tomorrow. Like he can’t stop now that he’s started, Louis keeps talking; “Always wanting more, always so desperate for me, kissing me in hallways where anyone could see because you can’t wait to get me alone.” His words tumble out of his mouth faster and faster. “Gonna suck you off next time, get that first load on my face, maybe even while I’m still wearing my glasses, then get my tongue all up in there and swallow everything you give me,” he says, voice gone all excited and hopeful like he’s actually planning for the future and Harry can _see_ it, Louis on his knees, all marked up with _Harry’s_ come, lips stretched around _Harry’s_ cock, cheeks hollowed as he chokes on it and still Harry would be at his mercy; the room feels too hot again and it’s getting harder to breathe. Harry fucks into Louis’ fist faster, uncaring for how his dick feels like it’s chafing, too lost in the pleasure to even really notice. “Or maybe I’ll put my fingers in you, three or even four,” Louis continues, “play with your spot until you come for so long you’re dry by the end of it.”

 

He punctuates the words with a particularly vicious twist of Harry’s already overstimulated nipple and a swipe of a thumb over the wet head of Harry’s cock and that’s it; Harry pushes his chest into Louis’ hand and his cock into Louis’ fist and his face into Louis’ neck and comes again, only a few drops of come pulsing out. He doesn’t make a single sound, completely unable to take in the oxygen necessary for that. It feels like every single muscle in his body seizes up as he thrashes with every new wave of pleasure that crashes over him; he’s feeling _so much_ all at once that he thinks he’ll explode with it because one person cannot possibly feel _that_ good. By the time it’s over he’s gasping for breath and Louis’ neck is wet with tears. The inside of Harry’s head feels like cotton. He thinks he might never be able to string a coherent thought together again.

 

Louis’ hands on his shoulders and hips guide him into a kneeling position, then push him face down into the sheets that smell of sex and sweat and the two of them, leaving him dizzy and with his arse up in the air, perfectly presented to Louis. Louis’ fingers, still wet with lube and come, run down his crack and for a second Harry shivers, both thrilled and terrified thinking Louis is going to fuck him, but Louis just spreads his cheeks and runs the wet head of his cock all the way from Harry’s balls up to his tailbone. When Louis gasps and curses, Harry can’t see what’s happening but he can imagine Louis’ hand wrapped around his pretty flushed cock, wet with Harry’s come, moving up and down at a punishing pace, Louis’ face all screwed up in pleasure. He can feel the head of Louis’ cock shaking against him, smearing a wet trail over his arse; the sounds of Louis’ hand stripping his cock furiously, of Louis’ laboured breathing and bitten off moans easily overpower Harry’s own shallow breaths and the rush of blood in his ears.

 

Harry knows the exact moment Louis is about to come, catches the hitch of breath, the almost-sob, the nails digging into his arse and the split-second freeze of Louis’ entire body before he starts tugging at his cock even faster. The first splash of come against Harry’s tailbone has them both moaning, then Louis slumps down to rest his head on Harry’s curved spine and his cock slips lower and out from between Harry’s cheeks and the next few ropes stripe over Harry’s arse. Louis’ sounds have taperedoff into weak little whines, but Harry can’t stop moaning from feeling Louis’ come painting his skin. Louis comes more than he ever has with Harry; most of it lands on Harry’s cheeks, but some of it drips down on the tops of his thighs and over his crack where Louis is still keeping it exposed. It’s a long time before Louis milks the last few drops right up against Harry’s balls and wipes his cock on Harry’s inner thighs. Even then he still holds Harry’s arse spread and Harry can feel the come run down his crack, can feel the exact moment it slides over the rim of his hole; if Louis had fucked him earlier his come would most definitely be sliding _inside_ now. It’s easy for Harry to imagine Louis fucking him bare and coming inside him, easy to pretend that when Louis’ come slips further down towards his balls, it’s actually dripping _out_ of him.

 

As if in some kind of daze, Harry stretches one arm out behind himself and pushes some of Louis’ come into his hole and then he just _has to_ reach down between his legs and pull on his cock. It barely takes a couple of tugs and his finger slipping in to the first knuckle before he’s coming weakly, the orgasm more like an aftershock than the real thing, more pain than pleasure and completely dry, but somehow deeply satisfying on an emotional level.

 

As soon as it’s over he falls over on his side like a puppet with its strings cut; his body feels like a mass of twitching muscles and soft tissues, boneless and completely out of his control. His mind is all fuzzy, thoughts bleeding together like he’s drunk until he’s not ever sure he’s breathing anymore. Maybe he’s died and gone to heaven because this might be the best he’s ever felt.

 

Then Louis plasters himself against his back, uncaring of the probably disgusting mess on Harry’s skin, and it’s like everything just clicks into place now that he can feel Louis all over when he didn’t even realise something was off before. He thinks he might float away from how light he is with happiness were it not for Louis anchoring him in reality. Louis kisses the back of his neck and behind his ear and up to his cheek, kisses his temple and his nose and finally his lips; Harry’s smiling so wide he can’t properly kiss back. He goes cross-eyed trying to keep looking at Louis with his too-bright eyes and his flushed face and his hair sticking up at odd angles and his glasses sitting crooked on top of his nose. He laces his fingers with Louis’ and turns around so they’re face to face. Louis’ hand, the one Harry hasn’t taken hostage, starts carding through his hair and petting him.

 

“That was amazing, babe,” Louis says, voice gone all soft and gentle and loving, “can’t believe how well you did, sometimes can’t believe you’re real and I get to have you.”

 

Harry just kind of… melts. It’s not the first time Louis’s said something like that and Harry always loves to hear it, has always been partial to a cuddle and a kind word especially from Louis and especially after sex since they’ve started having it. But it feels different right now; this time it’s like Louis’ words are his oxygen and his sunlight and his food. He doesn’t so much want them as he _needs_ them. He scoots even closer until they’re touching everywhere and lets Louis’ words lull him to near-sleep. He loses track of the individual praises that spill from Louis’ mouth, just basks in the tone; every _darling_ and _baby_ and _love_ makes his heart feel like it’s swelling. He only starts really paying attention when he notices Louis’ tone change.

 

“How are you, love?” Louis asks, running a hand down Harry’s spine. He sounds actually concerned, so Harry gives his answer some thought. He can already feel how his skin is tacky with sweat and sticky with lube and itching with several loads of drying come and how his nipples give slightly painful pulses with every beat of his heart. His crotch feels like it’s on fire and if he gets hard in the next _week_ he thinks his dick might fall off. He swears he can feel every single thread in the sheets rough on his overly sensitised skin, every shift in the air no matter how slight. But it all pales in comparison to this bone deep satisfaction, the sense that everything is somehow _right_. It’s all inconsequential when he has Louis wrapped all around him.

 

“‘M great,” he replies honestly. “Never better.” Louis is still looking at him suspiciously and sure, Harry is a bit loopy right now and his words are slurred a tad more than usual, but he’s telling the truth. Louis seems to decide the same as he nods and hugs him tighter. Harry can feel their skin sticking together. “We’re sticky,” he points out.

 

Louis snorts. “Yes, I know. I’ll plan better next time.”

 

He doesn’t even seem to realise the implication of what he’s said, but Harry does. He shivers a little. If he could, he’s sure he’d be getting hard again. (Then his cock twitches and he whines because it _hurts_ , yes, but also mostly because he’ll have to wait for that next time Louis’s planning.)

 


End file.
